They call us the Class of ’60, but we were children of the Fifties. The Sixties were five months old when we graduated. The social revolution and angry violence of that decade had no affect on us as high school students.

Our time was personified by Dwight Eisenhower and George Marshall, who together managed a winning war effort and served at the top of government throughout the Fifties. Their approach was disciplined and traditional. The government worked then; there was a lot less of it. It was in the 60s when government began to address onerous social problems.

The family unit was paramount, although we know that inside those homey environs there was sometimes dysfunction and sadness. For many though, it was an Ozzie and Harriet existence, lived in our neighborhoods, not inside a black and white television set. Kids waved to Mom from “T-Bar-V Ranch,” with Randy Atcher and “Cactus” Tom Brooks. Phineas T. Bluster rattled and railed. Milton Berle wore dresses. So did Bishop Sheen.

Religion was a given for most families, with services occurring across the weekend, from Friday evening to Sunday night. Even Wednesday night prayer meetings were well attended, although other week night meetings were prominent, too: Masons, Shrine, Eastern Star, several veterans’ groups, Boy and Girl Scouts, 4H, Junior Achievement and a host of others. Billy Graham drew hundreds of thousands to his business-like conversions.

Cars were heavy and gas guzzlers, but we didn’t care. Gasoline was twenty-five cents a gallon and motor oil was cheap. Frequent tune-ups were a must, when the mechanic replaced the spark plugs, points, condenser, and sometimes rebuilt the carburetor. Today’s cars have no points, condensers or carburetors. Pickup trucks were for workmen and the sport utility vehicle was unknown. Cars were cosmetically redesigned each year, but there was little engineering innovation. People wanted fins and got them.

We played baseball in the street and tackle football with no pads on empty lots. We graduated from hopscotch and kick the can, but were wild for submarine races. Bowling alleys were crowded, basketballs rebounded off somebody’s garage and weekend volleyball was a good excuse for our parents to drink beer. Golf was played with steel spikes and wood clubs; caddies got $3.50 for 18-holes. The social game was Bridge, played in the afternoon by women in dresses and heels munching finger sandwiches, or in the evening by couples who quibbled over bids.

Madison Avenue was adolescent then. Print advertising was the most powerful tool, with daily newspapers and glossy magazines the media of choice. Radio ads worked for some, but the inordinate force of television hadn’t been realized. People our age and younger proved the power of television commercials, with our herd response to things advertised there.

The term “fast food” hadn’t been coined. McDonalds arrived just before we graduated, but we had our own Ronald McDonald. Theirs wouldn’t be created until late in the decade. White Castle had always been there, but there was nothing fast about cooking those little burgers. The cornucopia of food outlets was yet to come, with dietary impact that rippled across generations and made food an industrial product.

In the home, people hated their hardwood floors and lusted for wall-to-wall carpeting. Wallpaper was on its way out. We didn’t worry about insulation, utility costs were too low. Paint cleanup required turpentine and stink. Automatic washers and dryers were being mass marketed for the first time. By the 80s, kids couldn’t identify a clothes pin. Dishwashers were met with cool skepticism. Frost free refrigerators were a new idea and microwave ovens a science fiction dream. There were no food disposers, no food processors, no toaster ovens.

The frozen food section at the grocery store had TV dinners, ice cream, orange juice, a few vegetables and not much else. Instant coffee was new and no good. We ground our beans at the A&P, but coffee snobs didn’t exist. Wine snobs were overseas. Items at the supermarket were individually price marked. Paper bags had no alternative. Savings stamps were the only gimmick.

The few computers were gigantic affairs housed at institutions. The most powerful of them had almost as much computing power as the laptop on which this was typed. There were no cordless phones, no mobile phones, few electric typewriters, no copy machines, but we could mimeograph to our heart’s content. Most adding machines had to be cranked. Cash registers played a symphony all their own.

Ball point pens were unreliable, fountain pens bled on our clothes. We had blotters to dry the ink. We learned to type on manual machines. We changed the ribbon and stacked paper intermingled with carbon paper to produce copies. We still use “CC” for carbon copy on electronic e-mails, with kids wondering what it means. Has anybody tried to buy carbon paper lately?

Smoking was ingrained into the culture. Cigarette advertising paid for many of the television shows we adored. Ricky and Lucy smoked; Fred and Ethel didn’t. Some of us assumed the affectation of cigars and pipes, but chewing and sniffing were better left to our grandparents. It took about 20 years for sniffing to come back into style for some.

Tennis shoes were used for playing tennis, until a few beatniks starting wearing them, prompting imitators on campuses everywhere. We could tell a beatnik because he wore tennis shoes with no socks. The shoes had to be dirty, like the beatnik

One group favored white tee shirts, blue jeans and greasy boots. Their girlfriends wore flats with ankle staps. Another bunch wore tan khakis, madras shirts and Weejuns. Others wore gabardine slacks, shirts and sweaters. It was common to see a boy wearing a coat and tie at school. Girls wore skirts and sweaters tight or loose, blouses, and shirtwaist dresses. Shorts were forbidden at school, except during physical education and athletics. Cheerleader skirts were so long and heavy it took an extra strong twirl to show the boys some leg.

Nobody wore car seat belts; there weren’t any. There were no motorcycle helmets, bicycle helmets, hockey helmets or batting helmets. There was no Medicare, no Medicaid, no AIDS. There was no pill, no Viagra and damned little unmarried living together. Sex education literally dealt with birds, bees and pollen, leaving the real training to grainy pornography or trial and error.

Mail was delivered twice a day in most places. There was no Federal Express and United Parcel Service used only trucks. Overnight delivery was common, for about a hundred miles. People sent telegrams. Long distance calls required an operator. Connections were weak, scratchy and expensive. There was one phone company.

Space travel, even by unmanned machines, was still science fiction. A trans-Atlantic flight was an adventure and it was cheaper to take a boat. Trains ran, few on time. Buses were a lot more popular than now. Hitchhikers were common and quickly got rides.

Drinking water came from a faucet and was so cheap it could be called free. Soft drinks arrived one way, with sugar. At a fountain, one could add flavorings. Some foods have stayed the same: saltines, Ritz crackers, Cracker Jack, Hershey bars, peanut butter, Butterfinger, Hellman’s, Tabasco.

When we led the way into the Sixties, the prospect of a fifty year reunion was no more than a passing thought. Now, here we are, poised to celebrate a very special group of men and women. This was on my mind last year, when inducted into the Fern Creek Traditional High School Alumni Hall of Fame. Here’s part of what I said:

“The Class of 1960 was a remarkable class of 339 students, the largest ever at Fern Creek. We were the last class of the conformist 50s and the starter class of the cultural revolution of the 60s, when we helped launch a fundamental shift in American society that is the bedrock for our culture today.

Our class produced several doctors and dentists. There are multiple attorneys, but no politicians, that I know of. There are scientists, engineers, many educators, high school and college coaches, musicians, business executives, published authors, military officers and war heroes, law enforcement officers, broadcasting executives and a network news anchor.

We know of 53 who have died, including one who died in prison, one who was murdered, another who might have been a murderer, and one who was lost at sea.

The whereabouts of about twenty percent of the class isn’t known to us, so we don’t have a full tally of their accomplishments or life experiences; but, if they’re anything like those we know about, it would be further confirmation that this is an exceptional group.

It’s humbling to be selected from among them for this honor, and I accept it with all those friends and classmates in mind.”

My years at Fern Creek High School had special meaning, because in many ways they offered me filling, for voids left elsewhere. I learned from you and the faculty things I should have been provided outside school; most of it absorbed as if by osmosis.

Until Fern Creek, I’d spent my life feeling like the cicada that emerged in the 18th year of the cycle, wondering, “Where is everybody?” Even with four siblings, I felt alone and acted alone.

At Fern Creek, I was part of something. It wasn’t the academics that were important to me. I should have done better. You were important to me. It was you who provided the most life enriching part of my learning there.

I’m grateful and, after 50 years, Tiger Gazette online is my way of expressing my thanks.

MAKE YOUR HALL OF FAME BANQUET RESERVATIONS THE SAME WAY. THE BANQUET, $25 PER PERSON, WILL BE ON SUNDAY, OCTOBER 3RD, NOON, WILDWOOD COUNTRY CLUB.

DON MC KAY AND DAVID QUISENBERRY WILL BE INDUCTED.

CALL BRIAN MILLER AT 1-502-485-6362

SEATING IS LIMITED, SO RESERVATIONS ARE A MUST

DON'T FORGET THE CLASS OF '60 TAILGATE PARTY

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 1ST IN THE SCHOOL PARKING LOT

IT'S HOMECOMING, WITH A FOOTBALL GAME AND HALF TIME FESTIVITIES.

THE FUN STARTS BETWEEN 5:30 AND 6:00 P.M. KICKOFF AT 7:00.

THE ALUMNI ASSOCIATION WILL HAVE A TENT. WE'LL MEET THERE.

GAME TICKETS ARE $5. THERE WILL BE BEVERAGES AND COOKIES AT THE TENT

AFTER THE GAME, THE PLACE TO GO WILL BE FRISCH'S IN FERN CREEK.

The Eat Shop, hang out for generations of Fern Creek students. Note the old drug store building in the background.

. . . a message from the Editor

The complete gallery of "Can you identify?" classmates

Marc Rucker

J. D. Nichols

W. K. Niman

Sherry Lazarus Kaufman

White Castle

Alice Pliess Schalk

Marsha Weldon Haberman

Pat Frost Cooper

Arley Houston McGill

Louis Nagel

Leonard Hartman

John Herrmann

Bill Wolder

Carlton "Curt" Neat

Charles Buckman

Lynn Flowers Perryman

Sara Shifrin

Grace Lovelace Albritton

Jim Sullins,

Editor

Acknowledgements - I owe a special thanks to Ross Simpson, whose fabulous contributions have made the site memorable in ways I didn't image. Ross adjusted his travel plans in Louisville to do the interviews and photos for Fern Creek 50, a piece that's at the heart of the web site. The Fern Creek photo essay is filled with his work. His daily phone calls to me have provided constant encouragement and loads of laughs, as have his e-mails. Ross has kept me going, although he might not have realized it at the time.

Janice Deeb Gritton has also been a bastion of support, with her daily updates on classmate status and reunion RSVPs. Her frequent e-mails of support and compliments have come complete with smiley faces and roses.

Many of you have included your thanks and appreciations in your contributions and e-mails. I've edited those out of the site, because they would have been repetitive and not on point. Nevertheless, each was noted with a smile and greatly appreciated. Thanks to all of you.